We Don't Do Drama
by kittodaijoubu
Summary: This is what would happen if the Seigaku boys' tennis club became... the Seigaku drama club. An attempt at crack.


a/n: This is my very failed attempt at crack D: I wonder if I ought to continue.

"...And this is the Seigaku boys' drama club."

Echizen Ryoma, newly arrived from the land of Hollywood, looked up from under the diamante-studded rim of his white cap and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Sensei. Why are they located in the tennis courts?"

The sensei blinked.

"They used to be the tennis club until... Well, nobody really knows why, but the rumour is that -" he dropped his voice - "they imbibed something completely contraband and this... This is the outcome." He nervously fiddled with his tie and cleared his throat before continuing. "But naturally all this is a rumour, their sudden behavioural turnaround is justifiable under the combined conditions of extreme stress and physical exertion that are self-imposed. The school has been endeavouring to counsel them and provide the necessary support through this trying period for both these students and their family..."

Ryoma tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He saw no point in euphemising_ they took too much pot_ into a nice, neat PG-phrase for twelve-year-old ears; he's lived in America for over a decade. Been there, done that.

But this, he supposed, was Japanese society: overwhelmingly polite and disapproving of deviance.

He sauntered casually over to the sign-up board, ensuring that he had child actor expression #3 on ("I am too cool for the world and their grandma" TM) and that his posture was at just the right degree of slouch, coupled with a slightly defiant tilt of the chin. The three boys at the sign-up table immediately looked slightly intimidated. Probably only stagehands, thought Ryoma scornfully. Two had the most hideous haircuts he had ever seen (half a coconut shell and an extra from that lame show Prison Break) and the last had a monobrow shaped exactly like a sine graph.

"Whatever," he mumbled to himself. "Is this where I sign up for drama club?"

Prison Break boy appeared to be too overawed by his cool vibes to speak, which left Coconut Hair to pipe up cheerily, "Yeah! Are you a first year too?"

Ryoma nodded briefly.

"Oh then you'll be in the fanclub and stagehand division. Like us!" He was rudely interrupted by Monobrow, who swelled, declaring loudly and loftily, "EVEN THOUGH I, HORIO, HAVE TWO YEARS' ACTING EXPERIENCE AND HAVE PLAYED ROLES FAR BEYOND A NORMAL HUMAN'S ABILITIES --"

Just as Ryoma was seriously contemplating sacrificing his cap for the greater good, by ending the noise pollution that was Monobrow's voice by stuffing it down his throat, Prison Break boy cut in, looking scandalised.

"Horio-kun! You only ever played a duck and a rampaging dinosaur that got killed in the first scene and came back as a rock later! And that was in the kindergarten and elementary plays!" This interjection started a huge debate that gave Ryoma a tremendous headache; these three were obviously only destined for the plebian roles of noisemaking rabble. _Extras._

He tugged his cap over his eyes and walked off towards the tennis courts, where the real action was happening.

* * *

The first thing he saw upon entering the courts was a board outlined liberally in shiny tinsel, header emblazoned in (alternating pink and purple letters) glitter across the top and underlined with a fuchsia boa for good measure.

The whole effect was incredibly gay, which was perhaps the point; once he got closer and the sunlight bouncing off the glitter was less blinding, he was able to read the header properly.

It read, _YOU GOT GAY?_

"...," thought Ryoma.

The lavender sheets of paper stapled on below appeared to be the audition and improvisation schedules for the day. it turns out that there are eight roles to be filled in the newest play, with one understudy for all eight roles, which makes nine.

Ryoma adjusted his cap and slipped his thumbs into the belt hooks of his pants, standing in position #93 (I Am Actually A Yakuza Member, So Now I'm Gonna Kick Your A). He was going to show them something they would never forget, and he wasn't even planning to include any nudity.

* * *

Eiji first noticed that there was someone new on the court when, instead of turning in admiration at his dramatic entrance (today he turned up in a tartan kilt borrowed off Hyotei's Mukahi Gakuto in preparation for the audition for Lady Macbeth, slamming open the tennis court gate and cartwheeling in with as much imperiousness as one could muster while trying to not inadvertently flash the world), everyone was instead huddled in a silent (the term actually means, in drama club terms, hushed stage whispering) mass around court one. Even the metallic clang of the gate against the fence did not pull their attention from what was happening onstage; he pouted and made his way over to Oishi, who was so engrossed that it took a good poke from Eiji's sharp elbow into his solar plexus to get his attention.

"Eiji! What was that for?"

"Oishiiiii Nobody is paying attention to me, nya! What's going on?" Eiji tried to sound royally displeased; he succeeded in sounding like a two-year-old.

"There's a freshman onstage, doing improv against Kaidoh. And-" Oishi paused for dramatic effect, because that was what was normally done in these circles - "he's actually _outwitting_ him."

_That doesn't say a lot_, thought Eiji. Kaidoh only hissed in response to pretty much everything, which explains why he always got all the villain roles, either as the evil mastermind who turns up at the end and looks menacing for all of three minutes before he dies, or the creepy stalker-cum-bodyguard who weaves sinuously in and out of the shadows and looks menacing at appropriate moments.

Admittedly the hisses did vary according to context, but dialogue content variation was usually quite an alien concept to Kaidoh. At combined rehearsals he and Hyotei's Kabaji did Expressive Monosyllable practice with each other, usually accompanied by Momoshiro's derisive laughter and Shishido's loudly-expressed disdain ("that is _violently _uncool").

The trick in winning an improvisation against Kaidoh, as Eiji figured out a while ago, is to move him into verbally expressing something that isn't _Fshuuuuu_ or any derivative of such. The only people who were capable of this are Momoshiro, Inui and Fuji -- and, it seemed, the new freshman, who gave Kaidoh a truly pitiful look, the sort worn by kittens stuck in trees or drowning in puddles. His eyes were huge and liquid and golden - and in that instant, Eiji knew that Kaidoh was a goner.

When Kaidoh went _aaaahhhhh_ and reached out as if to pat the freshman on the head, there was a moment of genuine, stunned silence before the eruption into scattered applause and chatter.

So the freshie did have some real promise. Eiji caught the smug confidence in his eyes as he turned away, and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of being a good senpai, ready to reveal the world of gay debauchery that had once been the junior high tennis circuit.

The boy wouldn't know what had hit him.


End file.
